


Febrile

by revenance_ink



Category: Feverwake - Victoria Lee
Genre: Canon Compliant, Insomnia, Lehrer breaks everything accidentally with magic, M/M, Mild Blood, Mind Games, Noam's PTSD, Persuasion/Attempted Mind Control, Seizures, Sickfic, no sexual content but takes place during Noam's abuse in TEH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revenance_ink/pseuds/revenance_ink
Summary: ***MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE ELECTRIC HEIR***Lehrer has a self-imposed health crisis and summons Noam for help. Noam struggles with guilt and good intentions.
Relationships: Implied Noam/Lehrer (Canon)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Febrile

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately following the Texan president/vaccine injection scene in The Electric Heir (chapter 25).
> 
> After reading TEH, I wanted to write a scene that further explored Lehrer's fevermadness/questionable health practices and Noam's inability to kill him while vulnerable. ('Is Lehrer EVER vulnerable?' was another concept I wanted to play with LOL... the answer is yes, but it's fuckin terrifying)
> 
> It was tricky figuring out what trigger warning tags to give this, so if I forgot any I'm so sorry! It's a nuanced scene so here's a bit of elaboration - I don't write any of the physical/sexual abuse but it is vaguely referenced and the emotional abuse is absolutely there; Noam briefly recalls traumatic events from his time in Texas; Lehrer experiences a fever/magic-induced seizure because he's the worst and he deserves it, and Noam has a lot of panic about the whole situation; Lehrer destroys a hotel bathroom with involuntary magic and, again, Noam has a Bad Time; Lehrer gets a nosebleed because magic virus and Noam gets mild glass cuts on his face.... I think that's about it.
> 
> ALSO FEVERWAKE IS AMAZING AND YOU SHOULD GO BUY BOTH BOOKS IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY (THE FEVER KING and THE ELECTRIC HEIR by Victoria Lee) BUY, DON'T PIRATE!!
> 
> Victoria Lee, if you ever read this, please know you're the best and I hope I do your characters justice <3

Noam slept in the penthouse that night.

He hadn’t expected to - in fact, he’d returned to his own room as soon as they reached the hotel, showered and brushed his teeth and undressed all in that same heavy daze from before that had yet to wear off. He’d turned out the light and crawled into bed, staring unseeing into the pitch black above him, when his phone screen lit up, splitting the darkness into soft shadows and weak light for a handful of seconds.

It needled straight into his mind via technopathy, he didn’t even bother to check it.

_Come up._

And he had no choice but to obey.

He felt like a lost child, skulking through the halls in his sock feet, phone clutched in one hand as he kept vigilant for curious eyes; but he encountered no one on his way, not even hotel staff, and made it to the empty elevator without mishap.

The ride up to floor 12 seemed to take a lifetime, Noam’s anxiety rising with each level that counted up on the display. Lehrer never asked him to his room without a reason. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t think of many other reasons besides the one he didn’t want to think about.

His heart was pounding in his throat as he rapped lightly on the penthouse door, holding his breath as he waited for Lehrer’s footsteps.

But they never came.

Seconds stretched into minutes as Noam stood there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, resting his palm against the paneled wood. Tentatively, he knocked again, a bit louder; but the apartment stayed silent, and Noam’s paranoia ratcheted higher.

He reached out with his magic, but only caught senses of the electronics and metal in the penthouse sitting room, mere blips in his awareness. He could feel the security system in the walls and the door, lining the windows, waiting benignly until interfaced. No Lehrer - no one at all in the immediate room - and no wards, which was odd.

Noam swallowed, summoning his technopathy, wondering if he should text Lehrer or --

No. 

He exhaled, mouth set in a grim line. Lehrer wouldn’t want him to ask. He’d expect him to make a decision and carry it through, no wavering or waiting for permission.

Noam rubbed his thumb over the biometric pad next to the door, twining his magic through the circuits until - _click_ , the security locks released, he nudged open the deadbolt with telekinesis, and he was in.

A chill swept over him like a draft as the door swung shut behind him, plunging him into darkness. The apartment was empty and quiet, the air tingling with that unique anticipation characteristic of all nighttime excursions in the dark - the familiar made unknown by the lack of light. Noam bit his lip and crept forward, one hand outstretched, trying to remember how to navigate the extravagant foyer to reach the bedroom doors.

He was about to give up and flick his phone flashlight on when the rug beneath his feet came short and he sensed the metal of the door handles, twin points of reference in the dusky black. Heart in his mouth, he grasped one of them and turned, as quietly as he could.

Lehrer was a still, silent form beneath the feather-down comforter, situated on his customary right side in the vast California king bed. Noam’s veins flooded first with relief - he was already asleep - and then fear as he tripped on the far-too-long hem of his borrowed flannel pajamas and swallowed a strangled curse. Lehrer was an extremely light sleeper - and honestly he was probably awake anyway, listening to Noam’s clumsy entrance.

But he didn’t stir when Noam sat on the edge of the mattress, drawing his legs tentatively up, or when he tugged the covers back just enough to slip beneath them, shivering lightly from the coolness of the sheets.

Noam lay curled on his side, back to the wall so he faced Lehrer, eyes wide open, locked on the motionless shadow beside him. His heart thudded dull in his ears, panic buzzing beneath his skin like magic. The images that still flickered on repeat over his vision - of the Texan soldiers collapsing, of the man’s skull crumpling in his hands - were dimmed only by the tension of _waiting_ : for the hands in his hair, for the whispered words and the body pressed hot against his.

But Lehrer did not move or speak, or give any indication whatsoever that he even knew Noam was there. Noam suspected he was awake nonetheless, but as the minutes stretched into the silence and his pulse finally began to slow, he was lulled into something resembling security and fatigue claimed him like a crashing wave, dragging him down.

===

He woke with a start, bed empty beside him.

The room felt even darker than before, a gaping void of layered shadows. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it couldn’t have been very long. He also had no idea what had woken him.

Or where Lehrer was.

Panic spiking sudden and hard in his chest, he sat up, raking a hand through his hair.

“Calix?” he whispered, throat dry and sticky with sleep and fear, but there was no answer.

Hesitantly, he reached for the little dip left in the mattress beside him - cold. Wherever Lehrer was, he’d been gone for some time.

Noam exhaled shakily, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was beyond exhausted, but falling asleep at all had been a fluke and he knew he’d be awake for the rest of the night now, heart lurching painfully in his chest. He’d left the sleeping pills in his room, and anyway he didn’t want to be deeply unconscious when Lehrer returned - he had no way of knowing whether Faraday’s integrity was fully maintained when he was asleep.

 _Faraday_ -

For a split second terror sliced up through his consciousness as the events of the day flashed in his mind - the hangar, the moment he let go of his Faraday shield to hold the building up - had he put it back right on the plane?

His magic flashed silver-blue over his skin, bright and hot, the room dissected into sharply contrasting shadows for just a moment as he assessed his outstanding magic output. 

Faraday shimmered brightly in his awareness, fully intact and functioning where it swathed his skull; and Noam let out a half-choked breath, relief flooding him from head to toe.

This brief lull in his anxiety abruptly ended when a harsh sound cut through his thoughts - muffled by distance and the walls of the penthouse but still unmistakably a cough.

 _What.._?

The sound came again, painfully sharp under the muted acoustics, and Noam bit the inside of his lip. There was only one person that could be, but it didn’t make any sense. He’d never once heard Lehrer cough, at least not like _that_ : physical symptoms were a sign of weakness, and while Calix Lehrer was many things, weak was _never_ one of them.

Although…

The memory of that night several weeks ago brushed the back of his mind. Lehrer on the couch with Wolf, pale and drawn, elegant hands shaking where he grasped the book. The marked suffusion of color accentuating his cheekbones as he stood in the bathroom door, watching Noam’s blood drain into the plastic receptacle.

Lehrer _could_ be weak. And tonight he’d injected the vaccine….

 _Shit_.

Noam threw the covers back and scrambled out of the bed, tugging his rumpled shirt down and making his way toward the bathroom. There was a sliding door at the far end of the bedroom, a thin slice of light showing beneath it; and Noam slid it open even as he knocked, alarm bubbling up in his chest.

The wash of yellow-white light blinded him for several agonizing seconds, and he ground the tips of his fingers into his eyes, wicking the irritated tears away. Only then did he realize what he’d just done - barged in on _Calix Lehrer in the bathroom_ \- but as his vision came back to him in bits and pieces he saw that Lehrer would not be killing him tonight.

Lehrer was seated on the tile floor, impossibly long legs folded beneath him, back pressed up against the glass pane of the shower. His shirt was damp down the front, and his hands were clenched at his sides; but it was his face that was the most shocking, and Noam had to blink several times to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

Lehrer looked… _awful_. His skin was ashy white, but high color painted his cheeks and ears and traveled down his neck like a rash. His eyes lacked their characteristic cut-glass quality, clouded down to an almost gray hue; and his breathing was audible in the small room, rasping even as he visibly tried to control it.

“ _Sir_ -” the word came out strangled, and Noam cleared his throat and tried again. “Are you - what happened, are you - I mean --”

“ _Quiet_.” He spoke with such vehemence that Noam snapped his mouth shut on reflex, but gold glittered briefly in the air between them, and after a moment Lehrer winced and licked his lips, touching the tips of his fingers to his mouth. “Sorry.”

Contrition, however terse, was so far off Lehrer’s _brand_ that Noam couldn’t have come up with a response even if he _wasn’t_ faking susceptibility to the persuasion - this bemusement must’ve shown on his face, because Lehrer grimaced and gestured vaguely in his direction. “That was unintentional, forgive me.” 

His voice sounded unlike anything Noam had ever heard coming from his mouth, hoarse and raw like he’d swallowed gravel. It was unnerving, as was the sight of him _on the floor_ ; Noam felt rooted to the spot, helpless as his thoughts raced. He could stay, find out what was wrong. He could exploit Lehrer’s weakness - was it a trap? He could kill him, right here - the thought sent a cold shiver of guilt down his spine because even as it flashed through his mind, he knew he _couldn’t_ \- not here, not like this.

Or he could leave, pretend this never happened. He was sure Lehrer would be more than happy to play along.

Lehrer must have guessed his wavering intentions, then, because the next thing out of his mouth was “Stay.”

Noam bit his tongue, hard, and sank down to Lehrer’s eye level, crouching across from him with one palm pressed to the cold tile. “Are… you okay, sir?” he ventured again, in a halting whisper. “Can I get you anything?”

“No.” Lehrer’s tone was flat as he slid his own hand beneath his tousled bangs. “I’m fine, Noam, it looks worse than it is. It will pass soon enough.”

Noam bit back the urge to protest the cryptic responses, willing himself to be patient. “What… is it?” he asked softly, settling cross-legged in his spot and allowing concern free reign over his features. “Are you sick?” The very word felt foreign in application to Lehrer.

“Hmm..” Lehrer shifted, stretching his legs out in stiff, inelegant movements. His ankle brushed Noam’s knee. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.” His eyes locked with Noam’s, hot and too-bright, and Noam’s breath stalled in his chest. “You remember the vaccine?”

As if he could forget.

“Of course,” he murmured, nodding once. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins, though he hardly dared hope - was the vaccine not as much of a dead end as he’d feared? He swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek. “You injected yourself to make a statement,” he said slowly, brow furrowing. “Was it… was it a bluff? Does the vaccine actually -”

“It’s not that.” Lehrer’s mouth twitched, though with amusement or irritation, Noam couldn’t tell. He seemed marginally less volatile than he had when Noam had entered the room, anyway - less tense, fists unclenching and posture straightening somewhat, left hand sliding up through his sweat-damp hair. It was as if Noam’s presence alone had some sort of calming effect on him, Noam thought, a glimmer of gratification flaring in his chest - and then promptly hated himself for it. 

“Rather, it’s what comes after.”

“After..?” Noam forced himself back to the conversation, forced himself to focus through the haze of anxiety and sleep deprivation.

“Though the vaccine cannot eradicate the virus from my system, it does tend to alter my antibody titer, and so in order to counteract that effect I have to inject myself with another strain of the virus immediately after. I’ve experimented with all of this before; however, occasionally the strains are more… virulent than expected.”

Noam blinked. “Virulent… meaning…” His eyes widened as he caught up. “You’re experiencing a relapse of the virus itself?”

“Something to that effect, yes.” Lehrer sighed, heel of his hand pressed to his forehead. “It’s not as severe as the initial infection, but nonetheless -” his face contorted suddenly, and he turned his head sharply to the side. “Excuse me-” His words were choked off by a vicious bout of coughs, like the ones Noam had heard from the bedroom. They seemed to shake him from the inside out, snagging harsh in his chest in a way that made Noam’s own lungs ache in sympathy.

It was a good several minutes before he emerged from the fit, breathless and flushed. His lips were cracked and painful-looking, a thin sheen of sweat glistening over his ivory-pale skin - and Noam suddenly had an overwhelming urge to go to him, to slip a hand beneath his tangled bangs in a palliative gesture and offer a shoulder for him to lean on.

The thought made him sick even as the familiar warmth curled in his chest, that thrill of being needed, being _wanted_ . The desire to please. To be _good enough._

The lights flickered, causing them both to glance up. 

Lehrer uttered a soft hiss, breath caught through teeth, and when Noam looked over his face was twisted in a peculiar expression Noam had never seen on him before. Something not quite grimace or scowl yet also both, displeasure and contempt laced with pain - but he smoothed it away when he locked eyes with Noam. 

The lights flickered again, more pronounced this time. Lehrer’s fingers twitched in his lap.

“Noam,” he said softly, voice rasping so severely that it took everything in Noam’s power not to wince. “Put up a ward around this room.”

Noam’s heart lodged in his throat. “Sir?” he managed, barely a squeak in the stillness hanging between them. Lehrer had never once asked him to create a ward - he always did them himself. Immediately, all Noam could think about was Dara and the apartment on Rigsbee. _Was this some sort of test?_

_Did he know?_

“ _Now_.” Lehrer’s tone was lethal, his eyes like white-hot coals. Noam swallowed, throat dry, and nodded. He scrambled to his feet, turning in a tight circle as he took in the shape and dimensions of the bathroom, all the while acutely aware of Lehrer’s eyes on him. 

He was careful to create the ward in Lehrer’s own style - weaving a mesh of raw magic in a protective layer over the walls and doors, no trace of technopathy or any sort of “lock” like he’d fashioned to protect Dara. He’d only tried this a handful of times before, and never with an audience, so his work was clumsy and crude compared to Lehrer’s intricate, sophisticated patterns; but despite the knots and asymmetry, it would function the same… he hoped. The criss-crossed bunches of electric silver-blue energy glowed bright as he set them in, then faded into the paint as if part of the decor.

Only then did he dare look back at Lehrer, chewing the inside of his lip, expecting a chastisement for his sloppiness or at the very least a critique.

But Lehrer was no longer paying attention. He was leaning his head back against the frosted glass shower door, eyes closed, lips parted. He had both palms pressed flat to the tile floor, as if bracing himself in place, and each of his measured breaths rattled deep in his chest. 

Alarm lanced through Noam as Lehrer shuddered with a sudden chill, curling in on himself in a terrifyingly uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. Up until now, a part of him had been so sure it was all fake - a trick to get Noam to let down his guard, to give Lehrer leverage or information or both. But the way the color drained from Lehrer’s cheeks with that shudder, the way his skin was blotched all the way down his neck, the way his t-shirt clung to his chest and armpits in patches of decidedly undignified sweat - if it _was_ fake, it was a level of commitment to realism Noam wasn’t sure even Lehrer would take.

“Calix -” he whispered, taking a step toward him almost without thinking. But Lehrer’s eyes snapped open as he did so, cut-quartz irises searing bright through long lashes - and for a brief moment his gaze sharpened, clearing, a look of warning so intense it seemed to rend Noam’s chest in two.

“ _Stop_ ,” he said, and a spark of gold arced from his lips, raw and dangerous. “Be -”

Whatever he was going to say was lost, because at that moment a torrent of gold sparks erupted from his skin with a low, threatening hum that set Noam’s teeth on edge and all the hairs on his arms standing on end. The magic was palpable, visible, its peppery ozone taste acrid on his tongue, and he stepped back, startled. But as the golden flashes of energy faded some, Lehrer’s back arched, his eyelids fluttering shut; and to Noam’s horror, he began to convulse, limbs jerking and head lolling on his shoulders.

“ _Calix_!” he shouted, darting forward; but another burst of magic threw him backward with such force that he stumbled and fell. The lights flickered in sync with the magic that looped and crackled around Lehrer’s body, streaming from his pores, circling his arms, his wrists, his torso. Across the room, the glass soap dish rattled to the edge of the counter, fell, and shattered on the tile. The lights grew brighter and brighter, almost blinding, then cut out abruptly, plunging the room into darkness for several seconds. Lehrer’s magic arced brighter in the dark, gold lines against the backdrop of black. 

In another moment the lights snapped back on, just in time for Noam to see every single item in the room that wasn’t fixed in place - lotion bottle, towels, wastebasket, shampoo, Lehrer’s razor kit, their toothbrushes, _everything_ \- inching toward Lehrer as if pulled by an invisible magnetic field. Noam felt it too - a compulsive, almost painful tugging, as if every atom in his body was suddenly polarized in Lehrer’s direction. It grew stronger and stronger, unbearable, and Noam realized with horror that he was sliding across the tile as well. He scrambled to his feet, looping electromagnetism around the doorknob to stabilize himself; and at that moment another concussive burst of magic reversed the pull, sending Noam and all of the objects in the room crashing to the ground. 

Noam was able to use his own magic to slow his fall this time, but the other items weren’t so lucky. Behind the dull roar of his own pulse, the sound of shattering ceramics filled his ears - but that was the least of his concerns. Lehrer was still caught in the throes of the seizure, magic now pouring from his ears and eyes and nose, and Noam froze at the sight, locked in a crouch several feet across the room. It was too familiar. It was too -

He was roused from his shocked stupor by the sight of gold threads crawling up the face of the glass doors, cracks spreading like fine hairs in their wake. Adrenaline spiking, he surged forward, forcing his body between Lehrer and the glass with just moments to spare. He threw his hand up, shielding Lehrer’s head with his body and bracing for the impact.

The glass made a horrible groaning creak as it split, great pieces splintering out and raining down around them. Noam focused all of his energy into a field behind them, deflecting all but a handful of the fragments. He stayed frozen in position for minutes after it was over, heart pounding wild in his chest, muscles trembling, ears ringing, cradling Lehrer’s head and shoulders in his lap.

The lights stopped flickering, as if nothing had ever happened. No more levitating objects, no more breaking glass - though, as his gaze darted around the room, he realized there was nothing left to break. The mirror had shattered as well, silver shards filling the sink and dusting the countertop and the floor. The air felt charged, still, the remnants of raw magic coating his skin, caught in his hair. But the gold static had disappeared as abruptly as it manifested, and Lehrer had gone limp in his arms. He forced himself to breathe, limbs trembling as his heart rate slowly returned to normal.

It was only then that he felt the heat radiating off of Lehrer’s body - far more intense than he felt was normal even for someone with a high fever. His hands and arms were sweating at each point of contact, and Lehrer himself was sweating through the thin fabric of his shirt even as he shook with residual chills, little aftershocks of the episode. For one briefly hysterical moment Noam wondered if Lehrer was about to burst into flames in his arms - it wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen tonight.

But several minutes passed without any signs of spontaneous combustion, and Noam began to relax by increments. Lehrer’s shuddering subsided, though the sickly heat bleeding through his shirt did not, and Noam shifted to a slightly less uncomfortable position, Lehrer’s head still in his lap.

It reminded Noam of Dara when he was fevermad, his skin so hot it felt like fire. As far as he knew, Dara hadn’t experienced anything like _this_ \- though, admittedly, Noam hadn’t exactly been paying enough attention to him at the time to know for sure - but Noam remembered all the times he’d brushed up against him and been startled by the warmth under his skin, radiating outward with an intensity Noam should have recognized for what it truly was. He should have known. He should have seen the signs.

Guilt still ravaged him for this, a bitter thread weaving the layers of his shame together, Dara’s feverbright gaze piercing the fabric of every nightmare he had.

He should have known.

But Lehrer wasn’t fevermad, and he didn’t need saving - most days, Noam knew this with utmost certainty, although the terrifying scene he’d just participated in sent cracks through the foundation of that certainty. It was much harder to believe in Lehrer’s utter invulnerability when he lay unconscious in Noam’s lap.

As if on cue, a soft groan passed Lehrer’s lips, his shoulders shifting against Noam’s waist. His tawny hair clung to his forehead, soaked in sweat, and Noam’s fingers swept the strands from Lehrer’s damp skin as if of their own accord. For a moment, a sharp pang of compassion twisted bright and hot in his chest, and he found himself wishing he knew healing magic - although if what Lehrer said was true and this was a relapse of the infection, that would mean his body was likely shedding excess magic in an attempt to stabilize and any influx of healing magic would be similarly rejected.

Violently, Noam noted, mouth pinching in a rueful grimace as he took in the destruction surrounding them.

A sudden sharp intake of breath from Lehrer startled Noam out of his grim reverie, tension seizing his muscles as Lehrer’s body went rigid with another shuddering chill. Palms sweating, Noam held on to Lehrer’s arms as tightly as he dared, bracing himself for another vicious round of convulsions and magic expulsion.

Instead, Lehrer sneezed, curling forward with the visceral force of it and burying his face in the crook of his elbow a moment too late, shoulders slumping in a breathless sigh. An embarrassing squeak of surprise escaped Noam as he let go of him like he’d been burned, staring helplessly at the back of Lehrer’s head, pulse thundering in his ears and turning the edges of his vision blurry with every fluttery beat.

He was still frozen in place when Lehrer twisted to face him, stiffly, as if every joint in his body ached.

 _And probably they fucking did_ , Noam thought, somewhat hysterically.

Lehrer’s eyes were considerably clearer now, his color already improving as he took an experimental, steadying breath. Blood trickled from his ears and nose, an obscene contrast to the familiar aloofness falling over his features; but he didn’t seem to notice, instead reaching to gently push Noam’s still-hovering hands down into his lap.

Noam blinked, then flushed, gaze dropping to the tile as mortification rippled through him. “I -” he started, but the words died on his lips as Lehrer brushed his fingertips over Noam’s cheek, finding an array of tiny cuts from the glass Noam hadn’t even felt in the shock of it all and healing them with an uncharacteristically bright flash of gold. The stinging sensation as his skin knit back together brought Noam back to his senses, and he stirred, catching Lehrer’s wrist with a slight shake of his head. “Sir,” he breathed, straightening, eyes flickering up and down Lehrer’s lithe form in search of the signs of infection that had been so prevalent just moments before.

Lehrer followed his gaze, brow creasing just a little. He took another long, quiet breath, and the ghost of a rattle still touched it, though it was not nearly as severe as earlier. He blinked, a faint haze of disorientation lingering over his features, then frowned, hand drifting to the thin stream of blood gracing his upper lip. He tilted his head, as if working out a kink in his neck, and in the next moment the blood vanished from his skin, split into its component elements and dissolved away.

He cleared his throat, sniffing sharply, and when his eyes locked with Noam’s again they were crystalline. “Well,” he said, the corners of his mouth quirking briefly. “That was… interesting.”

“ _Interesting_ ?!” Noam choked, a giddy laugh threatening to spill out of him. “Calix, what the _fuck_ just happened?”

“I told you,” Lehrer replied, unfazed, gaze perfectly cool as he regarded first Noam, then the rest of the room. “Do try to compose yourself, there’s no need to be so dramatic.” His voice rumbled low in his throat, uncharacteristically deep, but only the barest traces of the shredded, magic-laden rawness remained. 

Noam wanted to argue, to blurt that he’d just witnessed _Calix Lehrer_ have a goddamn _seizure,_ black out on the _fucking bathroom floor_ and yes that was _good_ _reason_ to be dramatic!! _-_ but he knew that was inadvisable. Lehrer’s countenance and body language had returned to normal in the span of five minutes, and Noam knew he didn’t suffer fools. There was no use freaking out about it at this point.

Just like that, Lehrer was back in full control.

While Noam floundered mentally, Lehrer cleared his throat again, combing his fingers through his hair as he unfolded himself with casual precision and rose to his feet. It took Noam a whole three seconds to realize that Lehrer was holding a hand out to help him up, and another three to finally take it. His hand was still fever-warm, but his grip was firm, and he did not falter in the least as he pulled Noam up.

He did not let go of Noam’s hand, and Noam didn’t pull his own away. He felt oddly detached from his own body, looking on helplessly as the two of them stood in the center of the ruined bathroom. He half expected Lehrer to pretend like nothing was amiss, but instead he seemed almost amused as he surveyed the damage, other hand resting on his hip in a loosely curled fist. “A suitable message for Harvey, don’t you think?” he remarked at last - mildly, but the smile playing at the corners of his mouth was wolfish.

“What?” Noam hated how his own voice sounded - stretched thin with tension, strangled and small. His fingers twitched against Lehrer’s, and he raked his free hand up through his hair with a shaky breath. “You _meant_ to do this? As a - a political statement?” He forced himself to breathe, to even out his tone. “Isn’t that…” He swallowed the word ‘overkill’. If the sight of Lehrer injecting himself with the virus and coming out unscathed wasn’t impactful enough, he didn’t know what fucking _would_ be.

Lehrer huffed a laugh, congestion still blunting the edges of the sound. “No.” He let go of Noam’s hand to rub the back of his own neck, humor bleeding out of his expression and leaving a distinct coldness behind. “But you should know by now that absolutely anything can be used as one, if you’re clever enough.” His lips were pressed thin as he looked Noam in the eye. “Be one step ahead at all times, Noam. Frame your own story, so that no one will _ever_ have anything over you.”

Noam nodded, swallowing around a dry patch in his throat. “Yes sir,” he whispered, a strange, quiet dread creeping at the back of his mind as his gaze flickered over the detritus that had once been bourgeois decor, the large cracks in the countertop and commode, the jagged splinters of glass and porcelain littering the floor. The gaping metal frame around where the shower doors and wall used to be.

This was what Calix could do with his magic _by accident._

Noam knew the stories. The rumors. The missing pieces of North American history meticulously edited from the Carolinian rhetoric that filled all the books and documentaries and biopics of Lehrer’s life. He didn’t want to think about what Calix could do with his magic _on purpose_ , to Noam and Dara and each and every person he cared about.

“Something the matter?” Lehrer was watching him closely, one elegant eyebrow arched.

Noam squared his shoulders, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “No,” he said, smoothing his expression into something he hoped Lehrer found more palatable and slipping his phone from his pocket. “Shall I send a picture to the president’s inbox?”

Lehrer smiled at that, albeit somewhat vacantly, and waved him off. “Unnecessary.” He traced a finger down the length of the broken counter, examining the fine layer of silver dust that coated the stone surface. “I’ll leave a note.”

“Okay.” Noam put the phone away, biting the inside of his cheek. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, his fatigue seemed to have tripled in intensity, and all he wanted to do was go back to bed - not that he’d be able to sleep, but _god_ did he want to try.

He chanced a look up at Lehrer, just in time to see a shadow cross his face, shoulders quivering with the ghost of a shudder. “..In the morning,” he added, almost to himself, pinching the upper bridge of his nose; and for a moment Noam glimpsed his own exhaustion mirrored in Lehrer’s expression, bone-deep and even _more_ intense, if that was possible. Given everything that had just transpired, he supposed it had to be.

Lehrer’s features twisted in an affected grimace that was closer to a wince, making him look approximately ten years older for several long moments until it disappeared as abruptly as it came on. He massaged long fingers against his brow ridge, his temples, breath hissing softly through his teeth as he closed his eyes. “Forgive me,” he murmured, without opening them. “These episodes leave me with _abysmal_ headaches, I’m afraid.” He looked up then, the dark circles beneath his eyes unmistakable. “Would you mind accompanying me to the bedroom?”

Noam’s pulse quickened again, nerves prickling even as he nodded and stepped carefully through the glass to stand at Lehrer’s side. He rested his fingertips on Lehrer’s elbow - lightly, an unspoken offer of support in response to the question Lehrer hadn’t quite asked. It was apparently the right move, as Lehrer crossed immediately to the door with only the faintest hint of a tremor in his muscles. Noam only remembered to dissolve his ward at the last possible moment, heat rising in his cheeks from his near-mistake as they stepped into the adjoining room.

“Your ward performed quite nicely, I see,” Lehrer said as they reached the bed, a dry note to his words. “Well done.”

“Thank you, sir,” Noam mumbled, squeezing his hand into a fist so tight his nails bit into his still-sweaty palms. There were times, uncanny times, when Lehrer still seemed able to see right into his head, Faraday be damned, and it made Noam’s stomach hurt.

Lehrer tugged his shirt over his head and sank down on the mattress, not bothering to find a fresh one. He shivered slightly, goosebumps visible on his exposed arms, but the sweat was wicked from his skin and hair, and his eyes as they tracked Noam’s movements were sharp and focused.

Noam willed his heart rate to slow to an acceptable rate as he crawled beneath the sheets, swallowing down his anxiety and keeping his eyes on Lehrer. Lehrer stretched out beside him with a sigh, flicking the bathroom light off with a lazy snap of magic. Noam held very still, breath locked in his chest, waiting for the inevitable. Silence unspooled between them, tense, agonizing.

Lehrer’s hand slid up through Noam’s bangs, fingertips caressing his scalp, warm and gentle, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to keep himself from flinching. 

“You did well tonight,” Lehrer said, breath soft against Noam’s face as he closed the space between them. “I knew you would. That’s why I asked you to come up.”

Noam gave the barest of nods, cheek brushing against the pillowcase. He didn’t trust himself to breathe, much less speak.

“Did I scare you?” Lehrer’s voice was quiet, his intention impossible to read in the dark. His hand carded softly through Noam’s hair, innocuous, soothing.

Noam hesitated, then shrugged, sheets rustling in the hush of the room. “It was… a lot,” he admitted, earning a soft chuckle from him. Silence descended again, Lehrer’s hand shifting to rest on his shoulder. “Does this... happen to you often?” he ventured finally, biting his lip.

“Mmm.” Lehrer’s response was more sigh than word, and he took his hand away, pressing it briefly to Noam’s sternum before removing it altogether. “Get some sleep, Noam. I think we’ve both earned it.” He pressed a kiss to Noam’s forehead, then turned over and did not speak again.

It was only as he lay there in the darkness, listening to Lehrer’s slow, rhythmic breaths, trying desperately to hide his trembling as the adrenaline crash overtook him in earnest, that Noam realized the lengths he had just taken to avoid a perfect opportunity to let Lehrer die.

How, despite everything, he had in fact gone _out of his way_ to save Lehrer’s life.

He did not sleep again that night. 


End file.
